Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(78)

Not lifting my eyes, I hid behind The Light’s expectations of a female. I couldn’t look directly into his piercing blue eyes. “Yes, Brother, Father Gabriel gave me permission to speak to you.”

“My name is Dylan, not Brother.”

I shook my head. “All men deserve a title.”

“No, they don’t. Fuck. Most don’t deserve anything.” He uncrossed his arms and they fell to his sides. “I know that I sure as hell don’t.”

I closed my eyes, and a tear escaped my lids. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Will you f*cking look at me?”

He reached for my chin, but I backed away. Too many thoughts were swirling about.

“Jesus, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Maybe not physically, but he had hurt me, and now hearing the emotion in his voice was hurting me more. I wrapped my arms around myself, as my cold hands gripped my own elbows and hugged. The dirty white dress pulled against my new reminders as I gave in to the emotion. Tears burned my cheeks as my shoulders shuddered, and I gasped for air.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, thinking that I would never have reacted this way before, but now I was. My off-the-chart emotions were real. “Why do you want to be away from cameras?” I hiccupped a cry. “I shouldn’t ask. Questioning is my greatest weakness.”

Dylan reached for my arms, and I froze, paralyzed by the thought of anyone but Jacob touching me—first Brother Mark and now Dylan. It was wrong.

If he sensed my discomfort, he didn’t say anything. Instead he sighed and led me to the sofa, the soft leather one where Jacob had laid me earlier.

Dylan’s tone overflowed with compassion. “Why don’t you just sit for a minute? I wasn’t trying to upset you. I’m not going to do anything away from cameras. I wanted to talk to you.”

I shook my head. “Please, may I stand?”

“Oh, shit. I wasn’t thinking. Yeah, sure, stand.” Releasing my arms, he paced a trek around the office, stopping again at the desk. Picking up the plastic container, he said, “I brought you something. I know you don’t understand why, but, well, I was hoping maybe you would.” He put Fred back down and shook his head. “It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have done it. If I hadn’t taken the time to go get it . . . if I hadn’t, maybe I could’ve stopped whomever . . . goddamn it! I can’t do this again.”

Handing me a tissue, he collapsed in the same chair where he’d sat earlier. “Are you really pregnant?”

“I think I am. I haven’t taken a test.”

Dylan nodded. “Yeah, you’re kind of emotional.”

Really? I wonder why.

“I’m scared,” I confessed truthfully. “And I miss my husband.” It pained me to say that to Dylan, but, like my first statement, it wasn’t a lie.

“I don’t get it. How can you miss a guy who does that to you?”

I swallowed. “I’m not certain I’m allowed to speak so freely to you.”

Though my Sara answers were saving me, the Stella side of me made the mistake of looking up. For only a moment, our eyes met. In his stunning blue orbs surrounded by lush lashes, I saw what I’d been hearing: remorse swirling with regret. It was the storm from my dream, clouds covering the clear sky. The ache in my chest grew.

“What?” he asked, as I broke our momentary connection and bit my lip.

“Nothing,” I replied softly.

“Nothing?”

“I was in an accident almost a year ago. I drove my husband’s truck and crashed. During the time of my recovery, I kept seeing—not really seeing, imagining—blue eyes.” I shook my head, unsure which part of me was speaking. “I’m sorry. It’s not appropriate, but, Brother, your eyes remind me of my dreams. I really don’t think I should say more.”

“Dylan, not Brother, and I give you permission,” he offered.

I smiled and lowered my chin. Damn, if only it were that easy. “Bro . . . Dylan, only my husband or Father Gabriel has that authority. But I will say my husband has never done what Brother Mark just did to me. He’s never harmed me.”

“Mark?” he questioned, and then went on, “You don’t think what he did to your eye was harming you?”

I forgot about my eye.

“It was the first time he’d done that, and it was my fault. I shouldn’t have made the decision to start a family without his permission.”

“What if he’d decided to start a family, and you weren’t ready?”

“I’d trust his decision.”

“What if he told you not to go somewhere, like Highland Heights? Would you go?”

I shook my head. “No. Obeying isn’t optional.” It was one of the first things I remembered Jacob telling me.

Dylan stood and walked toward me. “Turn around.”

Though his proximity caused my trembling to resume, my conditioning wouldn’t allow me to refuse a man’s command. Slowly I did as he said, but when he touched my hair, I sucked in my breath.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything,” he explained, “except take this damn collar off you.”

I nodded as he gathered my now-dry hair to one shoulder and fumbled with the buckle. Once it was off, I sighed and massaged my tender neck. “Thank you.”